Strange Gifts
by PurpleHat
Summary: In 2951, Glorfindel returns to Rivendell, and meets Estel for the first time. He is thrown into his company by Elrond, and finds himself falling in love with his friend's foster son. Warning: slash. Concrit welcome
1. Chapter 1

Third Age 2951

It was evening, when Glorfindel returned from Lothlorien. It had been many years as counted by men, since he had last walked in the valley of Imladris, which he called home, but hardly a season in the reckoning of the elves. He rode without saddle or bridle, and allowed the horse to pick his own way down the wooded eastern path. The first bluebells were opening under the sparse birches of the upper slopes of the valley, and their heady perfume filled the air.

The late evening sun had not yet set behind the hills, when the horse walked from the dappled shade of the birch woods. Among the scattered trees of the lower slopes, purple lady's smock and yellow dandelions sprang from the lush spring grass. Once, long ago, he would have sung a hymn to the beauty of the spring evening, and for the joy of returning home, but now he rode in silence.

Below, the path crossed one of the many bridges that spanned the waters of Imladris. And as the bridge came into view, Glorfindel saw that an unfamiliar figure stood alone on the parapet, lit by the low golden sun.

The man was slenderly built, but strong of shoulder, his dark hair braided in the elven style. He looked up as Glorfindel approached. His fair, smooth skin was almost translucent in the evening sun, but there were faint shadows on his chin and upper lip, and Glorfindel knew that he was no Elf.

Glorfindel said, "It is the custom here that the stranger should introduce himself." The young man's face lit up with laughter.

"But I am not the stranger here. I have lived here all my life." There was a touch of pride in his words. He spoke perfect Sindarin, without a Westron accent.

"Then your life has not yet been that long. I have lived here for much of this Age. I am returning after a period of travel that was but short in the eyes of my people."

"Then you have the advantage of me sir. I am Estel, foster-son to Elrond."

"Of course. I should have known. Tidings of your presence here did reach me in Lórien. I am Glorfindel."

"At your service, my Lord," returned the young man courteously, then he looked up, his face full of boyish enthusiasm. "I have heard of your exploits. But I would much prefer to hear them first hand, rather than from old songs and dry books."

It seemed to Glorfindel that it would be discourteous to ride away from the young man. In his youth he had the loveliness of one of the Eldar. A small mole on his neck, and the fine black hair on the backs of his hands but highlighted the pitifully short beauty of mortals, and how soon the glory of his face and body would be ravaged by age.

He dismounted, and where the path allowed, they walked side by side to the House, the horse following in his own time, as he stopped where he chose to crop the lush spring grass.

"Is it true that you once lived in Gondolin?" Estel asked.

"Yes." Sorrow rose again in Glorfindel's heart, but he forced himself to smile at the boy, who, he calculated, must be no more than twenty; a child by the measure of the Firstborn. He did not know how Men measured the passage to adulthood.

"Tell me about it," demanded Estel. Glorfindel looked away. Ahh, he thought, you have the bluntness of the Edain. I suppose your lives are too short for circumspection.

"Oh. I am sorry. I was thoughtless to speak so to you. I have been better taught." Estel's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and Glorfindel's breath caught in his throat at the young man's beauty. He was sorry for his silent reproof, and relented, saying,

"What would you know?"

"Everything. What it looked like. Who lived there. How it fell." Grief swept in a wave over Glorfindel for his friends who had fallen, Egalmoth, and Ecthelion among others, who remained in the Halls of Mandos. Even after nearly six thousand years, his grief was knife-sharp. A memory overtook him, sharp and bright as a jewel, of Ecthelion on the white battlements of the city, his hair like shadow, blowing in the wind, his beautiful face lit by golden light, as they watched the sun set behind the Encircling Mountains.

The boy must have noticed something, for he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"Don't be embarrassed." Glorfindel smiled at the lad, sorry for his confusion.

"Do not think you are the only one to have spoken of Gondolin to me. And of course I shall tell you some tales. But not yet. I have travelled far today, and would like to bathe before dinner time. Will you walk to the house with me?"

"Oh, yes please!"

A lovely contralto voice broke out across the valley, singing a lament for the end of the day. Glorfindel felt his sad heart ease as he and Estel walked in silence while the song echoed through the valley. As they neared the house, other voices joined in, and the harmonies modulated from minor to major as the song changed to a hymn of praise for the coming twilight, and the rising of the moon.

At the house, Elrond waited for him at the door, light from the house spilling out into the dusk. Elrond himself held a jewelled silver chalice, which he proffered to Glorfindel. "Welcome home, " he said. Glorfindel took a mouthful of the golden wine. It tasted of summer flowers from many years past.

He returned the chalice with a slight bow to Elrond, who drank in turn, as did Estel.

"Your presence honours us," added Elrond, then dispensing with the formalities, he added "I see you have met my foster son."

"Yes, I met him on the bridge. I suppose that he is…" Elrond interrupted.

"Estel, Lindir awaits you in the Hall of Fire. I believe he would like to teach you his latest composition."

"Yes father," Estel bowed politely to Glorfindel and the others, and hurried into the house.

"Lindir is trying to improve his singing, but I fear a mortal will never have the voice of one of our folk, " Elrond said. He looked round, checking that Estel was out of earshot.

"You were about to ask of his heritage, I believe. Yes he is Isildur's heir, but he does not know this. At my request, his mother has kept it from him. Those of his line have always been in great danger, and it is increasing. I would shield him from it as long as I can."

"You mean until he has in turn sired an heir," replied Glorfindel rather caustically, for Elrond's obsessive nurturing of the line of Isildur was sometimes mocked behind his back. "When will you tell him?"

Elrond sighed. "He is a man by the standards of his people, but he still seems so young to me. I would protect him a little longer. This one is truly like a son to me." He looked troubled for a moment. "You will of course wish to bathe before dinner," he added, courteously.

"Indeed I shall."

They walked into the house, and Glorfindel smelt once again the familiar smell of the Last Homely House. His spirits lifted. Elrond's house healed the mind and body of all who came there, whatever the private cares of their host.


	2. Chapter 2

After washing, and changing his travel-stained clothes, dinner time was upon him, and there was no time for Glorfindel to speak privately to Elrond He passed into the Great Hall with the throng of other dwellers in Imladris, and their guests. The rafters echoed with talk and laughter. Sometimes a snatch of song rose up. As he sat in his old place, next to Elrond, Glorfindel again felt overwhelmed with happiness, to be here again, in the place that in all Arda was most like home.

"How is Arwen?" asked Elrond, leaning back in his chair.

The familiar chair looked very uncomfortable to Glorfindel. It had been carved by Elrohir, more than four hundred years earlier, before the violation of his mother. He had turned away from the arts of peace since then, but his father always used the chair he had made.

"She says that it is too long since she has seen you, and she thinks she will return, later this year."

"The letter you brought me said as much. It is indeed too long since she has graced Imladris. I wish I could keep her safely here, but she wished otherwise, and Galadriel took her part. I am pleased that she will return soon." Elrond's grave features softened as he spoke of his daughter.

Glorfindel continued, "She has spent much time on the arts of the needle. Her embroidery has become very fine, and when I left, she was working on a tapestry for you."

"I look forward to seeing it. But you have graver matters to speak of?"

Glorfindel had been twirling his glass, watching the candlelight glint in the dark wine. He looked about him warily. Elrond smiled, "You may speak freely tonight. There are none here that may not be trusted."

"I do not bring good news. In fact part of the reason for my return to Imladris is to bear these bad tidings in person. Galadriel's scouts have obtained evidence that Dol Guldur is no longer empty. We knew that the Necromancer fled to Barad-dûur, after our attack ten years ago, but it seems some of his minions have returned and hold the fort. The scouts say that they are increasing their defences."

Elrond looked grave, and a small frown creased his fair brow. "I truly wish we had emptied that vile stronghold when we had the chance. But Galadriel's people were few, and Thranduil's folk were embroiled with Smaug. We had not the strength," he replied. Glorfindel nodded in agreement.

"We were spread thin. But Mithrandir was right to suggest that we attack Erebor and Dol Guldur simultaneously. He feared that Smaug was in league with Sauron, as evil draws evil for its own ends. Then one would aid the other, if we tried to engage with each alone."

"He was right, of course. I fear though, that we may regret that we did not sack that foul keep to its very pits, and raze it to the ground. We were too soon satisfied that the Shadow had fled from our borders, and did not heed that his lieutenants might return to hold out against us once more."

"Perhaps if we had known the Necromancer's true nature at that time, we would have been less easily satisfied."

"All may consider themselves wise after the event. It was not until he fled to his old fastness in Mordor that we knew his true nature. Though his malice is doubtless strong, his will is still weakened by the loss of the Ring, or we should not so easily have overcome him."

"Perhaps Mordor is where he wished to be, and we unknowingly served his wishes."

"That is indeed an uncomfortable thought."

They fell into silence. Glorfindel gazed over the Elves assembled in the hall. So many fair folk together, he thought. There were few places left in Arda where there was any remnant of the splendours of past ages. Here in Rivendell, and Lothlórien. And yet this was but a rag- tag remnant of the great lines of the elf lords of old, who had yet to pass over the Sea.

He emptied his goblet, and felt someone lean over his shoulder to refill it for him. The hand holding the pitcher was dusted with fine dark hair. Glorfindel looked up into Estel's apologetic face.

"I am sorry my lord. I asked if I could serve you tonight." Glorfindel felt a shock of pleasure at seeing the boy again. "I hope you do not object?" Glorfindel shook his head, "No, indeed." As the boy reached for the wine glass, the hair of his hand brushed Glorfindel's wrist. Glorfindel felt a shiver run through him, and a faint sense of foreboding came to him.

"Estel has a keen interest in the history of our people," Elrond said, turning and smiling at his foster son, "However, he does not spend as much time in the library as Erestor would wish."

"Oh Father, you know I would rather be at weapons practice. It will be far more use than book learning, for I will never be a lore-master."

"You must be master of weapons, and lore, and healing, for you do not know where your life will lead, and which will be useful." He turned to Glorfindel, "I would like it if you would assist in his education, if you have no objection?"

Glorfindel inclined his head in agreement. "Of course," he said. "It would be my pleasure." And he was surprised to find that he was indeed pleased to have the opportunity to recount tales of days long since gone to the boy.

"Perhaps you would start tomorrow, if you have no plans?" said Elrond.

"After breakfast, then. Meet me here."


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning, Glorfindel was in the stables before dawn, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair bound, helping his old friend Lindir muck out the stalls, and feed the horses.

"You know, you do not have to do this," said Lindir, as they shovelled the dung and soiled straw into the steaming midden pile in the dimming starlight.

"I'm glad to do it. This horse has served me faithfully. Now it's my turn to serve him. I don't consider it beneath me to do so."

"Any of us could look after the horses."

"Then why are you doing it? Shouldn't you be composing songs to delight us in the Hall of Fire?" Lindir looked a little sheepish at this very reasonable counter-argument.

"I find inspiration comes to me more easily when I have a task such as this to occupy me. If I sit in an empty room, the wellspring of my mind runs dry. But you –surely you didn't shovel horse dung in Aman?" He looked sidelong at Glorfindel, for even here in Imladris, one did not speak lightly of that place.

"Even there. The beaches of Aman may sparkle with jewels, but where there are horses, there is dung. And it smells the same."

Lindir laughed, and his breath steamed in the chilly morning air, "I shall see for myself some day. Come on. We're finished here. Let's wash."

Glorfindel followed Lindir into the warmth of the stable, where a bucket of water stood on the freshly swept terracotta tiles. Some twenty horses stamped and blew softly in their stalls. Lindir handed Glorfindel a bar of sweet-scented soap. He plunged his arms into the icy water.

They walked together out of the stable-yard and down the path through the silent valley towards the main house. The sky had lightened to a clear pale aquamarine in the east. The Morning Star still shone bright near the horizon. Glorfindel stood shoulder to shoulder with Lindir, and watched the sky gradually lighten over the dark peaks of the Misty Mountains. A light breeze lifted the sides of his hair.

Without warning Lindir began to sing softly. It was one of the paeons to the rising sun that had been popular in Gondolin. Ecthelion had often sung it. though Lindir had no way of knowing that. Glorfindel felt the tears well in his eyes, and spill down his cheeks, cold in the early morning air.

Lindir finished his song, and looking at Glorfindel, saw his tears. He did not speak as they walked back to the bath house.

-0-

When they walked into the hall for breakfast, Elrond beckoned Glorfindel to join him. With a laugh Lindir made his way to a part of the hall that was riotous with shouts of laughter and bursts of song.

Glorfindel sat down next to Elrond, and took a fresh roll, still warm from the oven. "You look tired old friend," he said, "Did you not sleep last night?"

Elrond sighed. His face was unlined, but something about its lineaments this morning suggested age in a way that the faces of the Eldar never did. "I have been thinking of Estel." He paused, as if unsure how to frame his words. "I have long hoped that an heir of Elendil might be returned to the throne of Minas Tirith."

Glorfindel was startled. Everyone in Imladris had always known the lineage of the boys whom Elrond had fostered over the years. It had been tacitly assumed that Elrond felt a sense of duty to his brother Elros's dispossessed descendents. Elrond himself never spoke of it.

Elrond continued, "They are of my brother's line, and his last kin in Arda, though his blood is much attenuated in them. His descendents should have their rightful place and I would see Gondor returned to greatness under their rule." Elrond's voice was not entirely steady as he spoke.

Glorfindel saw in Elrond's face, not for the first time, the depth of his grief at the loss of his brother, whose choice of a mortal life had taken him beyond the knowledge of Elves or Men early in the Second Age.

Elrond recovered his composure and said, "Fifteen of my brother's heirs have I raised here in Imladris, and the time has not been right. Now the Necromancer has returned to his old fastness of Barad Dur, and his true identity is thereby revealed. He will seek to rebuild his strength, and this time, it will be the armies of Men who will rise against him. Estel will be at their head."

"Is this your wish for Elendil's heir, or have you foreseen this?"

Elrond looked slightly embarrassed. "It is possible that my own wishes cloud my foresight on this matter. But already the tales of the line of the ancient kings of Gondor are lost in forgotten scrolls, remembered only by the lore-masters. I do not wish my brother to be forgotten, his life leaving no more mark than the wind passing over the grass."

"You wish me to further your plans," stated Glorfindel, pointedly.

Elrond inclined his head, but said, "I wanted to explain why I wished you to teach him. He is waiting for you at the door of the hall."

-0-

Glorfindel rose from the table, and crossed the hall to where Estel waited. The young man bowed low as Glorfindel approached.

"It is not necessary to stand on such ceremony with me," Glorfindel said kindly "Come, let us walk outside."

He led the way to one of the large garden doors, which stood open along the side of the hall. The morning sun was golden on the stone of the terrace, and even from the height of the house, the sound of running water was all around.

Glorfindel asked idly, "Is your mother here in Imladris?"

"No, she is visiting her people, a way away from here. Her sister is sick, and she wished to be with her. I stay here with my father."

"You look upon Elrond as a father, then?"

"Of course. I know he says he is my foster father, but I am certain that Master Elrond really is my father."

"I hope that you do not say this to every chance acquaintance,"

"Oh, but you're not a chance acquaintance. You're… well…You're …" he reddened, and mumbled something that even Glorfindel's ears could not catch, and he chose not to pursue it.

"Anyway, what makes you think this?" asked Glorfindel, looking for a way to gently disabuse the boy of his notion, without speaking of his true lineage.

"Well, he must be. Why else would he bring me up as his own son?" Glorfindel was shocked.

"You know that he is married?" he said.

"Yes. But such things are not unheard of amongst Men."

How could the boy have lived amongst Elrond's household almost since birth, and learned so little of Elven customs in such matters, thought Glorfindel.

"Have you not spoken to your mother of this?" he asked,

"No. I can't ask her such a thing."

"I'm afraid that it is not true. I knew your father." Arathorn too had spent his childhood and youth in Imladris, and Glorfindel had known him well. "He was a man of your people, and a good and admirable man. Elrond fosters you for his sake." Well, at least that was partly true. Glorfindel thought, looking at Estel's crestfallen face, and thinking of how complicated Elrond's motives really were.

"People have said that to me before, and I haven't believed them. Why does my mother not speak of him?"

"I have not met your mother, but maybe she still grieves for him, and it pains her to speak of him," improvised Glorfindel.

He was just wondering how to change the subject when Estel said, "Will you tell me about your fight with the Balrog?"

Glorfindel stiffened. How mannerless was this boy of the Edain, to ask him so bluntly, as if it were just another fairy tale. For it was impossible then not to think of the dreadful day that Gondolin fell.

And suddenly he it was as if he walked again in Gondolin, on that last day. The white stone of the Square of the Palace was stained with blood and ichor, and cracked by the flame of the fire-drakes and Balrogs. The air was filled with the distant clash of weapons, and the screams of Elves, Men and Orcs. There in the square was a sudden appalling silence. Ecthelion lay, the last time he had seen him in Endor, drowned in the Fountain of the King. His hair floated in the water like dark river weed, his arms about the breast of Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, legs wrapped about his thighs, as if embracing a lover. As once he had embraced Glorfindel.

The daylight darkened in his eyes, and grief threatened to overwhelm him again, but he closed his mind to it, and forced himself into the present. It was not right to inflict his sorrow on a boy at the start of his life.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've offended you. I didn't think," continued Estel, in a crushed tone.

His enthusiasm was infectious, and it was impossible for Glorfindel to stand on his dignity for long, even though the tale also involved that most private of matters – his own death.

He began the story.


	4. Chapter 4

Some days later, Glorfindel woke as usual, and lay in bed with a lighter heart than he had known for many ages. The day ahead seemed bright with a promise he had long since forgotten.

How strange, he mused, that the company of a young mortal boy should be so pleasing. He began to rehearse the story of the founding of Gondolin, imagining the expression on the boy's face as he told of the years of labour, when even Turgon turned his hand to mining and masonry to raise the white city in its hidden valley.

He found himself humming as he made his way to the stables again. Lindir was tending a mare, heavy with foal. He looked up with a smile, "Why Glorfindel, it sounds as if you are having a good morning. The Lay of Leithian indeed. Which of our fair maidens do you wish to see dancing amongst the hemlocks?"

While Glorfindel had been in Lorien, Lindir appeared to have appointed himself head groom. It was the way of the folk of Rivendell, to turn their hand to any task that needed doing, and somehow everything needful was done. In like way Glorfindel went to help Lindir, simply because he found his company congenial. And he liked the horses, who were uncomplicated. He had not accounted for Lindir's barbed sense of humour.

His cheeks were hot as he replied, "Why, in all my years no maid has danced for me in all of Arda. And now the time for such things has passed."

"Then it must be the prospect of my company that is making you so happy. The hemlocks are yet to flower this season, but I can arrange to dance amongst the dandelions, if you wish it," Lindir said outrageously. However, Glorfindel knew Lindir was innocent of any ill intent, and knew nothing of Glorfindel's secrets. He laughed too, and laid his hand on the mare's warm brown flank. The foal kicked vigorously against his touch, and the mare moved restlessly, stamping, and blowing. He moved to her head, and gentled her long soft nose.

"It will not be long for this one," said Lindir, reaching beneath the mare, and feeling her swollen udder. He lifted her tail, and inspected her rear matter-of-factly. "In fact I believe it may be tonight. I shall be keeping her company, if anyone wishes to know why I am not in the Hall of Fire tonight." He took a roll of bandage from a shelf in the stall and began to bandage the mare's tail to keep it out of the way of the birth.

There was a sudden clatter of hooves in the stable yard, and shouts and laughter. Glorfindel went to the doorway. Two tall dark-haired Elves were dismounting from a pair of matched white geldings, with a crash of mailed feet. Their identical beautiful faces were as fierce as hawks.

"I don't know why you wanted to keep the filthy things. Father has said many a time he does not want the valley defiled with such trophies."

The other Elf's baldric was adorned with tufts of coarse, dirty hair. His brother continued, "I don't know how you can bear the stink of those things so close to your face."

"Every time I smell that stench, it tells me that another of that foul breed has paid for our mother's torment. Oh. Glorfindel. You're back then."

"Elladan, Elrohir," Glorfindel bowed, unsure, as were all except their father and sister which was which. "I see you have had good hunting."

The brother wearing the orc scalps gave a smile which could only be described as wolfish. It sat strangely on his beautiful features. "Another nest of that spawn of Morgoth rooted out, thanks be to Elbereth." The smell of unwashed orc hair, and uncured scalp flesh drifted horribly across the stable yard. Glorfindel tried not to breathe very much. Lindir, ever curious, was at the stable door. He greeted the brothers, and said, "I'll just see to these shall I? " He led the sweating horses into the comfort of the stable well away from the pregnant mare.

"You have arrived early this morning. Did you ride through the night?"

"It was the dark of the moon last night, and we were filled with an urge to ride over the moors by starlight. Before we knew it, we were close to home, and had a sudden yearning for good food and soft beds,"

"And hot baths," interrupted his brother,

"Yes, and we were overwhelmed. So here we are."

"I am sure your father will be delighted to see you, after you have bathed. I was just on my way to the bath house. Perhaps you would join me."

"We would be delighted," said the brother without the orc scalps, and with an economy and synchrony of movement that was in its way as lovely as a dance, they removed helms, greaves, gorgets and mail shirts. What they could not reach for themselves, they undid for each other, until they stood in soiled leather jerkins, and grimy undershirts and breeches, their weapons and armour in a haphazard pile on the floor of the stable yard.

"You'd better burn those in the bath house furnace, Elrohir," said Elladan, nodding at the scalps. His brother bent and unknotted them from his discarded baldric, and slightly sulkily collected them into a hideous bouquet.

The bath house fires had burnt low when they arrived, and the brothers made for the woodpile. It amused Glorfindel to see that without a word, Elladan stationed himself at the woodpile, and Elrohir by the furnace door. Logs were lifted by Elladan, thrown to Elrohir, and posted neatly into the furnace with the same economic grace that he had seen as they dismailed. He pictured them fighting with that spare motion, two bodies moving, bidden by a single mind. No wonder Elrohir's tally of scalps had been so high.

The so-called bath house was really barely a house at all. It consisted of a roof supported on two rows of whimsically carved stone pillars, the work of several sculptors, and was open to the elements on three sides.

A shallow stone aquaduct, lined with smooth river pebbles of shades of grey and white brought water from one of the upper streams. The bubbling water made a pleasing music, as it ran over a small fall into the cold pool, which was large and deep enough for swimming.

The hot pool was filled with hot water from the steel tank, over the furnace, which was behind the only wall. One of the great pleasures of winter in Rivendell was to sit in the steaming water, preferably drinking hot, spiced wine, while snow on the surrounding lawns reflected the starlight.

When Glorfindel and the twins entered, it was empty. All washed themselves before entering either pool. The washing area was to one side; a slatted area over a drain, which led away into a gravel soak, so as not to soil the waters of the valley. While Glorfindel applied himself to carefully washing his hair, Elladan and Elrohir horsed around in the hot pool, with much splashing; wrestling and dunking one another, in a private and never-ending contest.

Glorfindel slid into the icy water of the cold pool. In summer, water lily leaves spread across the end of the pool which caught the sun, and already the ropy stems slid over his calves and thighs as he swam up and down the pool. Somehow he always felt excluded from the intensity of the twins' private relationship

It was more than four hundred years, mused Glorfindel as he swam, his hair spreading about him like river weed, since Celebrian sailed for Valinor. Four hundred years had the twins spent on their self-appointed task, tirelessly harrying orcs and other fell creatures in the lands around Rivendell. They travelled for many miles, sleeping under the stars, and returning to their father's house infrequently. People had expected them to calm down, once the first flush of grief for their mother had passed. But it seemed it never had passed, and Elrond and Elrohir were locked in their own intense fight against all the evil of the world. It left no room in their hearts for love. Elladan had once thought to marry a maiden of Lorien, but the death of his mother had led to bitterness of heart, and love could not survive in such an inhospitable climate. Many times did the mallorn leaves turn to gold while the maiden too had grieved. Elrohir had never loved another, at least that anyone knew of.

The twins broke off their horseplay, and were lolling in the steaming water. "I shall ask the smiths to reforge my sword before we leave again. The blade has too many nicks in it, and I swear that that last blow from that big orc must have weakened it. We must fletch more arrows too."

"After we have spoken to Father."

"We will have to be off again in a day or two,"

"Mmm. I daresay young Estel will beg again to join us. One day we will have to allow him."

"He has been brought up to a soft bed and good food. He will find life in the wild hard indeed. I do not think he has ever seen an orc, and they are not the worst things that abide in these lands."

"You have met our latest little foster brother?" called one of the twins to Glorfindel.

"I have. In fact I have been tasked with assisting in his education in history."

"Ha, Father would make a lore-master of him. The arts of war would make for a better education."

"I believe he is not deficient in those either. Erestor has seen to that. And I daresay that you two have also had a hand in it."

The twins laughed in unison, and one of them said, "Indeed we have. We mean to make him the greatest mortal warrior since Beren Erchamion left these shores."

"Really?"

"Our father believes he will be the one to restore the line of kings to Gondor."

"Believes, or wishes it to be so?" asked Glorfindel, finding it interesting that the twins at least knew of their father's plans.

"Does it matter?"

"It seems somewhat unlikely to me. The Stewards have ruled Gondor successfully for many mortal generations. They will hardly welcome a self-proclaimed king with open arms. And a member of a debased remnant of a great line."

"He is the only living direct descendant of Isildur. And Father still holds great heirlooms of his family and insignia of the office of King."

"Those will count for little. They may not even be recognised now."

"Then our father will ensure that they are."

The twins had always had complete faith in their father. Since the capture of their mother, they had rejected the arts of peace in favour of those of war, and left all matters of politics and strategy to him, and to Erestor. Glorfindel made a mental note to discuss the matter more deeply with Elrond.

"Breakfast is calling. Let's go and eat," said one of the twins.

They dressed in the loose plain robes of the bath house, and made their way to the main house, to dress properly.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that day, Glorfindel bethought him to see if the twins were at weapons practice in the clearing in the lower woods that was used for that purpose. To his pleasure, the twins were there, surrounded by a small crowd of Imladris folk who had nothing better to do. The arrival of the twins, with their news of events in the outside world, and slightly raffish air was always a cause of some excitement in the unchanging world of Rivendell.

Estel was amongst them, of course. There was not the slightest doubt that the boy would be there watching his heroes and sometime teachers with glowing eyes. It seemed that the twins were about to give an exhibition fight, for their hair was tightly braided, and they had stripped to the waist – rather unnecessarily, thought Glorfindel. But the women in the audience seemed to enjoy it. One of the twins looked up and said, "Hey, Glorfindel. Just in time. You and Celebdan against me and Elladan. We'll make a tournament of it."

Celebdan was the smith in Imladris at that time, turning his hand to all kinds of metalwork, from farm tools to weapons, to mithril jewellery of work so fine that few could discern its full detail. He was also one of the best swordsmen in Elrond's house, after only the twins and Glorfindel himself.

"It's too soon after lunch for me," Glorfindel started. Then he caught Estel's disappointed glance, and allowed the twins to persuade him. He unfastened his tunic, and pulled off his undershirt. A hum of women's voices arose. Glorfindel was not often seen unclad, and it appeared that some of the women were fully appreciating the sight.

He smiled, with slight embarrassment, in the direction of the women, aware that he was beautiful, tall and slender, with a dancer's lean strength.

Someone tossed him a practice sword, which he snatched out of the air gracefully. Celebdan moved to his side.

The twins started to move, circling their opponents in a complex pattern, so that at any time, Glorfindel was unsure which of the twins he faced, nor from which side an attack would come. He stood lightly on the balls of his feet, for the attack, would be an onslaught of slashing and thrusting blows. In that respect, the twins were quite predictable

But Celebdan was not prepared to wait. With surprising speed for one so brawny, he sidestepped out of the circle the twins were weaving, and made his own attack.

Glorfindel waited a heartbeat, before the expected counter attack came, parried the first thrust, steel sliding over steel, stepped and turned around the side of his attacker – he thought it was Elrohir, before drawing his sword neatly along the bare ribs of his opponent. The blunt blade left nothing but a red welt.

Elrohir let out an exclamation of annoyance, and rubbed his ribs. Glorfindel had moved only two steps, and stood again in the guard position. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Celebdan beating heavily on Elladan's sword, forcing him to parry again and again, trying to tire his opponent with his greater strength.

Elrohir, more cautious now, stood eye to eye with Glorfindel, each trying to judge when the other would move. This time it was Glorfindel, as quick as a cat, leaping into range, slashing down and left, across Elrohir's body, before retreating – but not before Elrohir, parrying, had given him a painful poke in the stomach with the tip of his sword.

"Come back here and fight," called Elrohir, mainly for the benefit of the audience. "You know you can't take the weight of my sword arm for…aargh." Glorfindel had feinted before Elrohir had finished speaking, drawn him to step in, and had neatly swept away his leading foot, before he could strike. Elrohir was now on the ground, Glorfindel's sword at his throat. He grinned up at him. "It's nice to see you haven't lost your touch, after all this time."

"There are plenty in Lothlorien who were happy to practise with me."

Elladan had finally disarmed Celebdan, although both were marked with a number of painful welts.

There was a murmur of applause from the audience, who began to drift away about their business, now that the entertainment was over.

Elrohir leaped up from the ground, "Come on. Let's get that whelp over here. It'll do him good to practice against your style."

"Oh, no. Not against Glorfindel. I couldn't," called Estel.

"Get over there," said Elladan, swatting him lightly on the buttocks with his sword.

And so Glorfindel found himself sword tip to sword tip with Estel, while the twins sat on a fallen log, and shouted out instructions to Estel.

"Keep your feet moving,"

"Go on, block to the side, then thrust into the gap."

Estel started cautiously, as if afraid of hurting his teacher, but gradually, his confidence increased.

He was good for one so young, thought Glorfindel, as he circled and parried, occasionally essaying a half-speed attack. The boy was so close, he could smell the scent of his sweat.

"Sweep his leg as he steps in," shouted Elrohir, and Glorfindel kindly let Estel throw him to the ground. He rolled and bounced lithely to his feet.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Estel, his eyes full of concern. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"He let you do it, you young idiot," hooted Elrohir, "You're not yet good enough to throw the finest swordsman in Middle-earth unless he wants you to do it."

Estel looked abashed, and said shyly,

"Are you really the best?" There was hero-worship in his eyes.

"Well, one of the best I suppose," said Glorfindel modestly, liking Estel's expression. "Come here. Let me show you some of the feints and strikes I use." Estel stood beside Glorfindel, copying his moves. The twins shouted instructions, which soon began to be annoying, as they invariably pointed out different errors to the ones he wanted to correct.

Soon it became apparent to Glorfindel that he would need to correct the boy's stance, and he felt a strange secret pleasure at the thought of the boy's flesh under his hands. He put his hands on Estel's hips to adjust him to the correct angle. To his surprise, the muscles of his buttocks were surprisingly hard and strong, as little like the elastic muscles of an elf as a dog feels like a cat.

"Turn your wrist to block the downward stroke, or the strength of your arm will fail, and your opponent's sword will follow through, and strike to your neck," Glorfindel was careful to appear business-like, and Estel seemed unaware of the significance of the moment.

At last the afternoon shadows began to lengthen into golden evening, and Estel stopped, chest heaving, and his face running with sweat, and said, "I am limp as a rag. Don't you ever get tired, Glorfindel?" Glorfindel felt strangely uncomfortable under the boy's frank and open gaze, so he looked away as he said, "Well, yes, but not so soon. I suppose Men and Elves are different in that way."

Elladan and Elrohir looked up from an intent conversation that had involved drawing complex maps in the earth, and one of them said, "You've improved, since we last saw you, you young puppy." Estel looked pleased.

The other twin said, "Come on. It must be nearly dinner time. Let's go and see."

He flung a casual arm around Estel's shoulder, and the three of them strode off. Glorfindel wandered alone under the shadowy trees without noticing where he went, and thought about Estel, and how he had touched him, and wondered if his face had betrayed his thoughts, or his discomfort.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring was changing to summer, when one evening, Glorfindel made his way to Elrond's library, to prepare for the next day's lesson. They had exhausted his tales of the First Age, and it seemed improper to tell stories of the Years of the Lamps or the Years of the Trees, before the birth of the Edain. Anyway, Estel had asked about the founding of Numenor.

"Elrond would be a better man to tell you that story," Glorfindel had said, for he had not witnessed the rise of the greatest city of Men, nor its betrayal and fall.

"He does not seem to wish me to know," Estel had replied.

Or does not wish to speak of it, mused Glorfindel. For all Elrond's knowledge and power, the choice his brother had made, millennia before, still grieved him. Elrond had never spoken of it outright even to Glorfindel, who had suffered his own great griefs and losses.

Of course, Glorfindel had been waiting in the Halls of Mandos, when Elrond and Elros had been born, and had known nothing of events in Endor.

A vision of the Halls of Waiting came to him. Grey figures sat in endless thought, and he sat among them, and he knew so many of them. Ecthelion sat silent beside him. It seemed strange now to Glorfindel that they had sat side by side for millennia, and had not touched. Had not wished to touch. In that strange place, there had been no desire, no grief.

And that was where he had left Ecthelion, who had chosen to remain with Namo, perhaps until the end of all things, and somehow that was the most painful parting of all.

He was still deep in thought as he entered the library. A wood fire burned in the great hearth, for the summer evening was cool and wet, and Elrond liked to provide for the comfort of his guests. Not for nothing did Men call it the Last Homely House.

Lamps had been lit, and cast pools of golden light, warming the grey evening outside the windows. The wood of the tables and bookshelves gleamed with years of care. Alone in one corner, hunched over a large book, was Estel, the ends of his braids brushing the table as he pored over the runes.

Glorfindel's heart quivered in his chest, at the sight of the boy.

He crossed the uneven wooden floor, stepping in hollows worn by centuries of footfalls, and sat down beside him smiling at Estel's serious expression.

"What are you studying tonight?" he murmured in a low voice. He reached over and touched the ancient cover, still soft as baby skin, closing it and reading the title aloud, "The Annals Of Beleriand, by Pengolodh," he finished in surprise, "Ah, I didn't know he had survived the sack of Gondolin."

"He was the greatest lore-master of the Second Age," said Estel, obviously pleased to be able to share knowledge with Glorfindel in his turn.

"And of the First. I knew him well once. Let us read what he has said together," said Glorfindel.

They sat side by side, leaning together the better to see the runes. Estel looked to Glorfindel (who read faster, but hid this from Estel) before turning each page. After a while, Glorfindel became aware of the warmth of the young man's shoulder against him, and the hard curves of the muscles of his arms. Discomfited, he gently he pulled away, as if shifting to a more comfortable position. Then he found himself entranced by the boy's profile, while he waited for him to finish each page.

A line of angry red bumps ran down the side of his fair neck. From time to time, Estel reached up and scratched them, scoring his skin with his nails. Glorfindel was puzzled and fascinated by these, for the Eldar were not prey to biting insects.

When Glorfindel looked up, Elrond was in the doorway, looking at them, and frowning slightly. Estel glanced up too, and seeing his foster father, pushed out his chair, scraping it loudly across the floor, and leaped to his feet.

Elrond smiled indulgently as he crossed the room, "Not so impatient, Estel. I would still be here if you rose carefully. I wish to speak to Glorfindel. You will not mind leaving us for tonight."

Estel bid them goodnight with courteous words, and hurried off. The library door closed behind him with a bang. Elrond sighed, and sat down opposite Glorfindel, moving a lamp so that Glorfindel's face was not in shadow.

"His impatience still disturbs me. It seems hardly to have lessened since his childhood. Of all of his line that I have fostered, it is he who has grown closest to my heart. He seems to have the capacity to make those around him love him."

He stopped, and for some moments seemed reluctant to continue. He reached for the book on the table, and idly turned the pages, as if he sought for the right words in them. Eventually he drew himself up, and his demeanour became stern.

"Pengolodh lived long in the Havens of Sirion after Gondolin fell. Once, after a little too much wine, he told an incautious tale of you and Ecthelion." Glorfindel kept his face expressionless, and Elrond continued, "I am probably the only one here who remembers such a tale – and it was never written down. Do you understand to what I allude?"

After a pause, Glorfindel said stiffly, "I do."

"I do not expect that you will confess to me that these rumours were true. However, you are growing closer to my foster son than perhaps is wise – under the circumstances."

Glorfindel was horrified, for he had had no clear intentions other than taking pleasure in the company and physical closeness of the boy. This now took on an aspect in his mind that had not been clear to him before.

"I am deeply disappointed, Master Elrond, that you feel the need to reprove me so," he said formally, and standing, gave an ironically deep bow to his host – for of course he was the elder, and the Noldor had always considered themselves greater than other folk, and he made as graceful an exit as he could.

That night he dreamed of Ecthelion, in a way that he had not since Gondolin. Ecthelion stood by his bed, dressed in a loose silk robe beautifully embroidered with great workmanship, but suitable only for the bedchamber. His hair was loose, and fell forward over his face as he leaned over Glorfindel. The blue robe slipped aside over his lean, pale thighs as he slowly knelt on the bed and straddled his lover. Suddenly in his dream, the face hovering over him was that of Estel, as he touched his lips to Glorfindel's. Glorfindel felt a pang of piercing sweetness that thrilled through his body, and awoke to the quiet dark of his own room in Rivendell.

A dark horror filled him at the forbidden dream. A turmoil of thoughts tumbled through his mind. At last the nature of his feelings for Estel was clear to him, and desiring one's pupil, and a child at that – at least in the eyes of the Eldar, was forbidden. A man desiring another man was never spoken of, but Glorfindel was sure it would have been forbidden. And last and most important of all, desiring Elrond's foster son, whom Elrond had pledged to protect was the most forbidden of all.

But intertwined with his horror, was the dream memory of the delightful feel of Estel's soft lips on his own, and he couldn't help but relive the sweetness of that forbidden kiss, and his body began to yearn, in a way that it had not since Gondolin, for touch - for the touch of Estel.

Before long, birdsong burst forth from the gardens, and he realised that dawn was not far off, and further sleep was impossible. He rose, dressed, and slipped soundlessly through the deserted corridors, and out into the darkness. A soft rain was falling, and the air was full of the scent of the wet earth, and green growing things. Water bubbled and chuckled in the gutters of the house, falling in elaborate spouts and curtains, according to the fancy of the ancient architects.

Glorfindel wandered without heeding where he trod, his tumultuous thoughts quieted by walking. The darkness of the night gradually lightened to grey, as the sun rose behind the clouds.

After some hours, he found himself high above the valley of Rivendell, on the edge of the pine forests to the north. He sat down on the carpet of brown needles, still dry under the thick canopy of dark boughs, and looked into the valley below, half hidden by grey rain. Here, in the high foothills of the Hithaeglir shreds of cloud blew across the face of the hills, bringing blasts of rain that spattered Glorfindel's face, as he sat and pondered.

Before long, he had convinced himself that his will was strong enough to defeat his desire, and that he did not have to leave his home in disgrace. His heart lifted, and if he had been truthful to himself, more than a little of this was because he would soon see Estel again. He stood, brushed himself down, and began to descend the muddy path.

It was still only mid-morning, and rain was still falling when Glorfindel neared the house. As he crested the brow of the final hill, and the roofs of the house came into sight, a shout came up from below. A figure, hooded and cloaked against the rain, was running up the path towards him, and Glorfindel's hawk-sharp eyes were keen enough to make out that it was Estel. His traitorous heart leaped in his breast, and he found himself smiling. The world seemed brighter in his eyes, or perhaps the rain was lifting.


	7. Chapter 7

It was nearing midsummer, and the folk of Rivendell were rarely in the house, while the weather was fine. Meals were taken in the gardens or under the trees, and many even slept in the open air - or did not sleep at all. Glorfindel had kept his promise to himself and Elrond, and had done his best to meet Estel only in the company of others, although he know the boy had often felt rebuffed and puzzled by his colder manner.

The night of the full moon was especially warm, and most people were making merry by the Bruinen, down the valley from the house, where steep crags opened out into meadows and the river deepened into a placid brown stream. This was always a popular spot, once the hay had been cut. A dark haired, grey eyed Man, plainly dressed, sat near Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir leaned across their father, and seemed deep in conversation with him.

Elrond was barefoot, lolling in uncharacteristic ease on the grass, wearing a crown of beech leaves and buttercups, which grew in profusion round the edges of the meadow, where the grass was still long. Estel was there too, his fingers deftly weaving more leaves and flowers, and he spoke animatedly to the new arrival. Glorfindel found a bittersweet pleasure in watching Estel from afar, though he was careful not to let has gaze linger long enough to cause remark. Estel, laughing, tried to crown the stranger with his latest garland, but the Man resisted. Glorfindel heard him say, "You are becoming more elf than Man my boy. Keep your crowns for those who appreciate them."

"Who is that?" Glorfindel asked Lindir, who perched on a little outcrop of turf on the very water's edge, dabbling his bare feet in the cool water. He plucked idly at the strings of a hand harp, drawing a lilting little melody from it. Voices rose in song as he played.

"Halmir. One of the Dúnedain."

"Estel's kin, then,"

Lindir inclined his head.

"His mother's brother, I believe. I expect they are plotting ways to make the lives of the orcs in these hills even more unpleasant." Lindir's tune became more plaintive, and he added, "You know, I always thought that the twins would settle down again, after a while. After their mother left."

"You went with her to the Havens, didn't you?" said Glorfindel, who had been away at this time.

"Yes. Erestor and I alone escorted her. Elrond would not leave Imladris. He said it made little difference to him where he said goodbye. The journey took thirty days, although we were on horseback, for she would not ride at above a walk. No food would she eat on that journey, and barely enough water to moisten her lips. Even Miruvor failed against her broken spirit. It was a sorry journey. I thought at times that she would leave us and seek the Halls of Mandos, rather than the shores of Aman."

"Elrond would have mourned then indeed."

Glorfindel idly twirled his glass. It was a fine, lustrous red colour, which seemed to be part of the glass itself.

"This is new," he said, to change the subject, and lift the sad mood. "We had glass this colour in Gondolin. But I thought the secret was lost, when…" he tailed off.

"Celebdan made it. He tried adding mithril, hoping its brightness would be imparted to the glass, but the yellow brown colour was not pleasing. When a party of dwarves left gold as a gift, he placed a few shavings in a corrosive solution of his devising, and added the salts to the melt. To his joy, a little gold made this beautiful red glass. He has made many such since. It is much admired. And it looks even better like this." Lindir reached over and filled Glorfindel's glass again with the fine red wine.

"I think I've had enough, Lindir. You will have to carry me to bed, if I drink much more,"

"Drink it, and forget your sorrows and enjoy the music."

Glorfindel looked round. The long summer dusk was falling, and the first stars were coming out. The moon had not yet risen. More and more people were wearing garlands now, some already at rather rakish angles. Clearly Glorfindel was not the only one in danger of drinking too much.

Lindir stopped playing and lay back on the grass beside him. Glorfindel looked at Lindir's profile as he gazed at the stars, and in his thoughts, it was another who lay at his side.

A flurry of pipes started up a wild dance tune, and a few people started a merry dance, weaving in and out of the revellers in graceful patterns. More and more people joined in, even Elrond, and his stern advisor Erestor, their robes kilted up above their knees. Halmir looked on in bemusement. Soon Glorfindel found his hand grasped in a calloused palm, and was pulled to his feet.

"Come on," cried Estel, his face flushed, and his garland falling over his eyes, and galloped off, slightly unsteadily. It was impossible to refuse.

As they danced, the songs became more rowdy, and even a little silly. The ebb and flow of the dance took Glorfindel close to where the twins had been sitting.

Elladan was standing up on the edge of the river bank, brandishing a full glass in one hand, and a bottle in the other. His voice rose above the music and chatter, "And _we _said_ '_but we've got no money'. Then _she_ said 'I'll let you off if you both….woah…oh!"

There was a terrific splash and the dancers crowded to the bank of the river. Glorfindel joined helplessly in with the burst of laughter. As Elladan stood up waist deep in the river, still miraculously holding both glass and bottle, Elrohir said drily, "As I recall, you needed to cool off then too!"

Elladan raised his glass, "A toast to the fair horse maidens of Rohan,"

"Don't drink that you fool. It's river water. Come here. I'll open another bottle."

Elladan waded out, water running from his braids onto his face, and shook himself like a wet dog.

The onlookers sprang back with a variety of exclamations as water sprayed over them.

"Oh look at my hair! It's ruined," cried.Elladan.

"Nonsense, It'll dry. You're as vain as a maid," said his brother.

Elladan started to wring out the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair with the extreme concentration of the very drunk. His brother pressed another full glass into his hands.

"It looks as if someone is going to be sleeping in the meadow tonight," said Celebdan, who was standing next to Glorfindel in the crowd, with tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

"I shan't be joining him, old friend. It is high time for me to go to my room and keep my own company. A good night to you."


	8. Chapter 8

Glorfindel started to wend his way up the river. The gardens near the house were also filled with folk, and even the trees were loud with song and laughter, for the Sindar who lived in Rivendell needed little excuse to take to the branches. The full moon now rode high in the sky, and the silent shadows further from the house called to him. He crossed the lawn, and waving aside offers of wine from many of those he passed, slipped into the darkness under the trees.

He let his feet choose their own path, without conscious thought, and soon found himself on the less frequented paths of the valley. Dew formed on his clothes and hair as the night cooled, and the green scent of growing things was strong in his nostrils.

Behind him, he heard footsteps, louder than any of the elven residents of Imladris. He paused, unafraid, for nothing evil could penetrate so far into Elrond's domain. Around a bend in the path appeared Estel, panting slightly, as if he had been hurrying. Emboldened by wine he blurted out, "It would please me…I would like…May I walk with you?" He slurred his words slightly.

Glorfindel had meant to walk alone, but suddenly the company of the young man seemed more pleasant by far than solitude, and in his wine-clouded state, his promises seemed unimportant.

"Of course Estel. But I am no longer in the mood for song or tales tonight. Let us walk quietly."

The young man stumbled and panted noisily beside him, pebbles tumbling under his feet. Glorfindel realised how the Man left his mark upon everything that he touched, unlike the Eldar, who could pass through the world and leave no mark on it, save when they chose.

The path steepened, and became rocky and uneven underfoot. Eventually, they came out onto a promontory, high above the house. They stopped and stood gazing down into the valley. Golden lights twinkled in the blackness below them, but in the distance, the curved bones of the land were limned in the moonlight. As Estel staggered slightly against him, it seemed natural to Glorfindel whose judgement was not at its clearest, to put his arm under his shoulder to support him. Estel leaned his head against Glorfindel, who felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Need to sit down," mumbled Estel. Glorfindel lowered him onto a patch of grass, where he immediately lay down. Glorfindel sat uneasily beside him, slightly wary of this new and rather flirtatious Estel. Soon though, it seemed easier lie down too. He gazed up at the stars, as they wheeled slowly overhead.

"Look, there's Eärendil's star," Glorfindel pointed. It had just risen above the Hithaeglir, "And there's Menelvagor watching over us. Can you see his belt?" Estel looked and smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. "And look, that's Borgil, that reddish star at his shoulder."

Estel turned his head to Glorfindel, their faces suddenly close. Glorfindel felt light headed with joy, or maybe with wine.

"I should like to go to the stars," he said, softly. This made no sense to Glorfindel, who dismissed it as the wine talking. He said indulgently, "How do you mean? Do you wish to see Eärendil, sailing in Vingilot with the Silmaril upon his brow? Do you wish to speak to him?"

"I should indeed! And do you think all the other stars are people from the ancient legends, who would speak to us?" Glorfindel had never thought about this.

"They were set there by Varda Elentári," he said. The Quenya names he had first learnt as a child came most naturally to his lips. " I do not know what you would find if you visited them."

Estel moved his face closer to Glorfindel, whose senses swam, for it seemed as if Estel might kiss him, and for the first time it occurred to him that Estel might want him, too. He lay motionless, for it suddenly seemed to him that he could keep his promise to Elrond, so long as it was not he who took that first step. But Estel merely whispered, his breath tickling Glorfindel's lips, "Halmir once travelled far to the South, to the land of the Haradrim. Their alchemists grind glass into a curved shape, and use it to bring the stars closer. They tell of mountains on the Moon."

Glorfindel was shocked out of his amorous daze by this apostasy, for although the Elves were master glass makers, they only made things of beauty and it had never occurred to them to make lenses, for their long-sight was keen. He sat up.

"Such devices can only be the work of the Great Enemy, who seeks to deceive. It cannot be so, for the moon is the last flower of the silver tree, Telperion, guided aloft by the hunter Tilion." Glorfindel stopped himself, for he had said more than he should. The mysteries of the time of the Two Trees were not for the ears of mortals, even those of such illustrious descent as Estel.

But Estel merely laughed, as if discounting the holy truth as myth, and said, "If we could travel there, perhaps we would discover who was right."

Glorfindel bridled at the arrogance of the Edain, who spent so short a time in Arda, but thought they had discovered everything there was to know.

The mood of the evening was soured, and Glorfindel drew away, suddenly mindful of his promises, and also newly aware of the danger of being alone in Estel's company, if the boy was infatuated. He said, "Get up. It is time we returned to the house."

-o-o-o-

The next day Estel did not appear for his lesson with Glorfindel. No one had seen him at breakfast, or in the gardens, or at the weapons practice ground. As he searched, Glorfindel became increasingly concerned, and was finally alarmed enough to seek him out in his private chambers.

He knocked on the door. At a faint cry, he entered. Estel was lying propped up on pillows, a pail by his bed. His brow was beaded with sweat, but his cheeks were pallid. Glorfindel rushed forward and took his hand. The flesh was clammy and under his fingers Glorfindel could feel the fluttering pulse race. Why, you are sick. You should be with the healers." Estel turned away.

"Please don't talk so loudly. My head hurts so much."

"Let me call the healers."

"Father has already been," He indicated a cup by his bedside. Glorfindel sniffed. The steam rising from it was fragrant and medicinal.

"What is wrong with you?"

Estel smiled with a sad wisdom that made Glorfindel feel small and young. "You do not understand, do you," his voice was wan, "the surfeit of wine I took last night has caused this malady."

This last statement shocked Glorfindel, for he had never before realised Estel's frailty in this regard, elves being fortunate enough not to suffer in this way. He was relieved, too that he had been delivered by chance from taking an irrevocable step the night before.

He found a soft cloth in Estel's chest, and moistening it with cool water from the ewer by the bed, set about cooling Estel's sweaty face, with the tenderness of a mother, until suddenly Estel cried out, "Oh please leave me now…. Now…Get father…"

As Glorfindel closed the door behind him in some alarm, he heard the horrid sound of retching. He hurried to fetch Elrond.


	9. Chapter 9

Some days later, Glorfindel received a message to go to Elrond's private rooms. He had spoken little to his old friend since his reprimand, and his conscience now was not entirely clear. So it was with some trepidation that he entered the chamber.

The garden doors were open, and bees buzzed lazily about the fragrant lavender on the terrace. A song of many parts rose up from the valley below them, as people about their work sang their joy in the season. The song of the birds seemed to be a part of the music, and so did the rush of the many waters of the valley. There was a familiar scent of pipeweed smoke in the room, and Glorfindel's nose recognised it even before he set eyes on the figure seated on the sunny verandah with Elrond.

"Mithrandir," he cried, joyfully. It had been many years since he had seen the old wizard, who went about his own mysterious business. No one knew when, if ever, they would set eyes on him again. "I suppose it is no coincidence that you are here, hard on the heels of my news about the Necromancer?"

"Yes, and no, dear friend," said the wizard, "Your news was no news to me, for I have come hotfoot from Gondor, and even from the very foothills of that evil land of which we do not speak. Our fears have been realised, and Sauron is once again Master of Barad-dûr."

"Not our worst fears, though," added Elrond, "for at least his Ring has never been found since the death of Isildur. It is fortunate that his lust for power led him to put so much of his strength into it, for without it he is much weakened." He fell into a brooding silence. The elves singing in the house and outside fell silent too. Mithrandir's expression was grave as he said, "I would have preferred it if Isildur had taken your advice, and Círdan's, and thrown the ring into the fires of Orodruin. We should all sleep more peacefully in our beds if we knew for sure that that foul device, forged in treachery and betrayal had been utterly destroyed."

Glorfindel walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down the peaceful valley. He had fought many battles, both small and great against the forces of Morgoth. The sunlit gardens seemed dark in his eyes, and he said, "We would be hard-pushed to face Sauron if he regained his full might. Once the Valar rode in their splendour against the might of Morgoth in Thangorodrim, and we thought he was defeated. But we failed to seek out and destroy the his servant, thinking him powerless without his master. Then the Last Alliance of Elves and Men defeated the servant on the field of Dagorlad, and we thought him diminished beyond return. Now we in turn are diminished, and may yet be called on to face him again. Even though Morgoth remains in chains outside the confines of the world, still he finds ways to wreak his evil will. Is there to be no end to this?" There was bleakness in his voice.

"We are unlikely to come to facing him, at least in his full strength," said Mithrandir, "He may be but a thorn in our sides. For as you say, he is much diminished, though still full of spite."

"We must keep watch, and do all in our power to keep him that way," added Elrond. Mithrandir nodded, "Curunír agrees with us and will do all in his power to keep him weak. He is well placed to prevent him from gaining weapons and supplies from the lands nearby."

"We are fortunate that Curunír has made his home in Orthanc," said Elrond.

"We are indeed," said Mithrandir, "His power is great, and he labours tirelessly in our cause. I would feel much more unease if he were not in our vanguard. There are others of my kind, too, though I have heard nothing from them for many a year. I shall seek them out, too."

"It is unfortunate that Curunír's success in this depends on the agreement of Men, for they are weak, and easily swayed by the blandishments of the enemy," said Elrond, who unlike Glorfindel had had many dealings with Men through the ages.

"And yet their courage in the face of overwhelming adversity can be surprising," said Mithrandir. "Don't discount Men, for we may need to depend on them in the future." Glorfindel supposed that Mithrandir too had spent much time among Men in his wanderings. None in Imladris knew whom he dealt with when he was away.

Elrond said, "I do not discount them, though we must beware of their weaknesses. And there is the matter of these." He unfolded embroidered silk cloths, which had lain unnoticed on his knees. In one, was a golden ring of marvellous workmanship. Two serpents twined round it, crowned by golden flowers. The serpents' eyes were worked in green jewels of great brilliance.

"Finrod's ring," gasped Glorfindel, who had instantly recognised it. "I thought it had long since been lost or destroyed."

"No," said Elrond. "It has been here for safekeeping since the days of the Kings of Arthedain. As has this." He unwrapped the other cloth on his lap. There was a jangle of metal, and the shards of a sword were displayed.

"I thought that too had been destroyed, when Elendil cut the one Ring from Sauron's finger. I did not realise any had salvaged the fragments," said Glorfindel, surprised that after so many years, Rivendell still held secrets from him.

"This was once on the hand of my brother, and the other in it," said Elrond, reverently fingering the ring as if remembering. "The time is coming for my brother's line to reclaim the throne of Gondor. When Elendil's heir proclaims himself, Sauron will tremble. We must choose our time carefully, for this is a weapon we can only use once. Estel must soon learn who he is. And it is time to remind Gondor of the High King. I will send messengers south, to prepare the way."

The conversation changed to less serious matters, and they spoke idly of this and that for a while, then Mithrandir said, "I have a fancy to walk on the high moors, and watch the sun set in the West. Glorfindel, you might like to accompany me. Let's take a picnic."

-0-

Their pockets filled with bread and fruit from the kitchens, they made their way up the side of the valley. They walked in the shadow of early evening, though the far side of the valley of the Bruinen was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. As they rounded a corner, and came upon a red deer, standing motionless in the dappled sunlight of the path. The deer gazed at them without fear, and turning, vanished into the shadows under the trees.

"You are troubled my old friend," began Mithrandir, after they had walked in silence for a while. Glorfindel quailed at the perceptiveness of the wizard, for he had never truly known the measure of the Maiar's powers in Middle-earth. The idea that his thoughts were laid bare to scrutiny was, at this moment particularly discomforting. But he said, dissembling, "I have lived too long in exile, Mithrandir. My heart yearns now for the peace of Aman, away from the machinations of the Enemy, whether it be the Great Enemy, or his minions."

"Not exile, my friend. Don't think that. You were chosen. Did you not know?" Mithrandir's voice was warm.

"It was never spoken of. I thought…"

Mithrandir walked patiently beside him, as Glorfindel considered what he would say. He had always assumed that he had been exiled as punishment for his transgressions against the customs of his people with Ecthelion, in Gondolin. No one had ever mentioned it, and he had felt that his sins were so heinous that none could bring themselves speak to him of them. And he certainly had no idea whether Mithrandir knew of his love, or whether if he knew, he would condemn it.

As if he could read his thoughts, Mithrandir said quietly, "All have their place in the Music."

Glorfindel's heart thrilled at his words, for even in Aman, the Music of the Ainur was a mystery largely hidden from the Elves. But even more than that was the suggestion of forgiveness – no, not even that, the hint that he had not even transgressed.

Out on the pathless moors, the wind was fresh, and the air clear. Several skylarks hovered high above, their high piercingly sweet song bubbling through the clear air. Mithrandir kilted up his long robe, tucking the ends into his belt, to make his way through the green clumps of heather. His thin legs in grey leggings looked incongruous above heavy black boots. He turned his face into the wind, to the west. They were high up now, the ranges of the foothills of the Misty Mountains spreading before them, brilliant in shades of green and gold. Their shadows were long behind them.

"Shall we eat now?" said Mithrandir.

The sun was setting behind banks of low cloud, and as they watched and ate, it seemed to Glorfindel that the horizon had bent, and the golden clouds took on the familiar shape of the distant shores of the far West, and the aquamarine sky was the sea. The sound of the wind in the heather was like that of distant waves. The golden light intensified, and the beauty of the moment became such that Glorfindel gasped. He became aware of Mithrandir's kind eyes on him.

"Now do you understand?" he said. And though Glorfindel wasn't sure quite what he should understand, a sense of peace stole over him, and for a time his heart was at rest.

They stayed and watched in silence as the glory faded, and the shadows lengthened into darkness. Under the great starlit dome of the sky Mithrandir said at last, "You were chosen for your strength, both of body and spirit, and your indomitable courage. None other, save Fëanor is as great as you. And he would not have been chosen for none knew what havoc he would wreak in his overweening pride.

And with that Glorfindel, for a while, was content.

In the morning, Mithrandir had already departed, as mysteriously as he had arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

It was late summer, and although it was not yet light, the Hall of Fire was busy with a hum of voices. In the fields further down the valley, where the land opened out and the soil was fertile, the corn was ripe, and the weather set fair for the next few days. Many had chosen to rise early and join the harvest.

The farm carts were already outside the kitchens, being loaded with food for the harvesters, who would work almost ceaselessly until the harvest was brought in. There was little fear of a break in the weather though, for at this time, Elrond wielded the power of Vilya, to ensure that the Last Homely House would not be short of bread for the household and its guests throughout the coming year.

Glorfindel stuffed rolls and fruit into a pocket, and went outside. Scythes and flails had been stacked outside the hall. Glorfindel selected a scythe to suit his height and grip, and joined the throng of elves, men and women, walking down the valley. Not far ahead of him, was Gildor, who he had not seen for many a year. It was hard to pass the folk between them to catch up with him on the narrow upper paths, especially as one of the farm carts, drawn by one of the big, gentle farm horses was between them. In the end, he had to drop his dignity enough to call out.

"Gildor. Hey, Gildor!" The dark haired elf turned at his name. His face came alight at the sight of Glorfindel, and he turned, letting the tide of folk and the plodding horse wash past him, until Glorfindel caught up with him. "When did you arrive, old friend," he said. Gildor smiled, "We arrived last night, bearing messages from Cirdan. We stay but a few days. And how better to spend them, but harvesting in Imladris." And Gildor was indeed carrying a scythe over his shoulder.

Ahead of them, a group of elves broke into a merry song about the gift of the harvest, and the joy of the labours ahead. Their voices fell naturally into many harmonies. Each new voice that joined added a new strand, from the highest clear sopranos of some of the women to the deepest of basses, which could only be that of Elrond.

This was a great festival, where even the most solemn elf would take pleasure in the work of his hands, and give thanks to Yavanna for the gift of the grain.

Soon the golden fields spread before them. Some were already at work, scything the hip-high stems. Others were gathering and binding the corn into great stooks to dry before the winnowing. The sun rose hot in the sky. Sleeves and the cuffs of breeches were rolled up, and scarves tied to brows. The women tucked the hems of their gowns into their belts. Eventually the men even removed their shirts, chests and arms gleaming pale as pearl in the strong light.

After a while, Glorfindel, feeling thirst, stopped to drink. One of the food carts stood in the shade of a tall elm in the hedge, and jugs and ewers of cool water from the high springs of the valley were there. As he drank, Estel came towards him with the same thought, Elrond behind him. Estel's fair face was reddened across his nose and cheekbones, and his bare shoulders were pink. This puzzled Glorfindel, for the Eldar took no hurt from the sun. But Elrond said to Estel,

"I told you to put on your hat and shirt, until the heat leaves the sun, for your skin will not yet bear it, 'til it weathers." Glorfindel asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"The skin of Men – those of pale complexion, reddens in the sun, then may brown, though not in all. And if the sun is taken too quickly then the redness turns to blisters and sores, and is a great affliction. I have often, when Estel was younger, had to treat his burns with cooling salves. And he must still take care."

And Glorfindel marvelled that Elrond, whom he revered as if he were a great one of the Eldar, should have such knowledge of men. Estel put on his shirt as bidden, and Glorfindel felt sadness that Estel's lean, well muscled torso, so lovely with that unfamiliar flush of redness on it, was to be hidden again. But he held the memory of what he had seen close to his heart.

They worked on through the afternoon, and into the golden light of evening, singing as they scythed, for the rhythm of the music made the work go quicker. Estel worked beside him now, scythe swinging, muscles bunching under the thin cloth of his shirt. And Glorfindel again felt desire rise in his heart for the rhythm of the harvest left his mind free to think of other rhythms.

And Estel looked at him, as they paused in the evening dusk, and smiled into his face. About them, people were finishing their work, and starting to wend their way back up the valley to the house. But Estel and Glorfindel lingered, unspeaking, until they were alone in the field in the darkness. As if under an enchantment, he could not resist, Glorfindel took Estel's hand. It was warm and rough with dirt. He ventured to caress the palm, stroking softly with his own smooth fingers. Estel did not draw his hand away, but waited, unspeaking. All Glorfindel could do was murmur, "Oh, Estel," and step closer, until their chests all but touched. Unbidden, his flesh rose in his tightening breeches.

His breathing quickened, and he leaned forwards until with each breath he inhaled the scent of Estel's skin, fragrant with sweat. He paused, trembling on the edge of sweetness beyond all imagining, about to cross into that unknown country of love with Estel. He could hear how the boy's breath caught in his throat, and knew he would not be repulsed.

Then unbidden, another vivid image entered his thoughts; of Elrond, his smile turning to horror. He wrenched his aching body away and stepped back, though his legs would hardly carry him, for the force of his unspent desire. Estel's face had fallen.

"I am sorry my love. I cannot," said Glorfindel. But he could not help but glance at the boy's lap as he spoke, and the outline of the boy's desire was clear to see. Another thrill of sweetness shot through Glorfindel to his very groin, and it took all his will not to fall upon the boy and take what he wanted from that willing body. Estel came towards him, his hand out. But Glorfindel, afraid of what he might do, turned, and ran swiftly away, not turning back to see the disappointment that he knew would cloud the boy's features.

-o-o-o-

He spent the night in the woods. His body was in torment, denied the release it craved. In his mind, he relived those sweet moments, when Estel was about to be his, and in his fevered imagination he possessed Estel again and again, until his flesh would bear no more. He opened his breeches, and took himself in hand, thinking all the while of how it might have been Estel's hand, and brought himself a shameful relief of a sort.

Over and again he tried to envision a course of action in which they might still be lovers, but could find no comfort.

As the first light before dawn drew a grey line above the Hithaeglir, he wept bitterly; for shame at his desire; for Estel, so nearly marred; for Ecthelion, whom he had lost, and for himself, for he had not chosen to be different in his inclination to the rest of the Eldar. But it seemed his doom now was to be alone until the end of all things.

As the day lightened, and the sun rose, it seemed yet dark to his eyes. He made his way back to the house of Elrond, and knew he must leave it. In his heart he wished to steal away, like a thief in the night, but his pride and his courtesy would not permit him to leave without speaking to his old friend and host for much of this age.

Elrond was still in his chambers. He looked up in surprise, as Glorfindel burst in unannounced, for no-one locked his door in Rivendell. Glorfindel suddenly realised how strange must be his appearance. His unbrushed hair was full of leaves and dirt, and his garments were stained with mud. He blurted out, before prudence could stop him, "I am leaving Imladris. At once." Elrond's eyebrows rose up his forehead. "And is there a reason for your abrupt departure?" He peered closely at the other elf's face, and as if he could read his guilt, straightened up, and became stern. "You must tell me all that has transpired."

There was naught for Glorfindel to do, but relate his tale as he was bid. And so he did, leaving out only his hopeless, desperate love for the boy, for he did not wish to expose something so precious to the scorn of another, let Elrond think of him as some depraved lecher or no.

"It seems that you stopped yourself just in time, " Elrond said sternly, "It is as I have long thought. The Noldor were always morally flawed, and the passage of ages has not improved matters."

Gorfindel's heart quailed before the reproof of his friend, but he did not seek to justify himself. He said, "I shall journey to the Grey Havens, though I am not yet permitted to cross the sea. Círdan may welcome me for a while."

Elrond nodded and said, "It is high time that I spoke to Estel of his true heritage. Perhaps a better understanding of his lineage will prevent him from pursuing such a corrupt course as you have taught him. It shall be done today. Meanwhile, it would be better if you and he did not meet again before you leave." Glorfindel assented, and bowing, turned and left the room, and made his sad way to his own chambers.

-o-o-o-

He lingered long in packing, though the belongings he would take were few, for he planned to travel on foot, being in no haste to arrive at the Havens. He kept the door of his room sealed while he was inside, with the back of a chair, for he wished to keep his promise to Elrond that he would not meet Estel again.

Once he heard the chair rattle, and Estel's voice at the door, crying, "Glorfindel. Glorfindel. Come out and speak with me. Please?" But he hardened his heart, and would not answer.

Some time he spent in the high paths of Imladris for he knew it might be many years until he saw his home again. He haunted the wild places where he had spent time with Estel. And so it was that he came to stand hidden in the trees above the bridge where he had first set eyes on Estel, as the first tints of autumn gold came upon the birches, and the birds sang no longer.

Two figures were on the bridge, and for a moment, Glorfindel could almost have thought he saw himself and Estel meet for the first time in the flesh. But the elf had black hair, and was robed as a woman. It took but a moment for Glorfindel to recognise that it was Arwen, arrived from Lórien unbeknownst to him during his seclusion. Estel was facing towards him, and with his keen sight, he could see the boy's expression of wondering enchantment.

Then he knew that there was truly nothing left for him in Rivendell, and left that night, without speaking again to any of that house.


End file.
